


Anything Goes

by CuriousCarson



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1980s, Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, Coming Out, F/F, Gay Panic, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, School Musical, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousCarson/pseuds/CuriousCarson
Summary: In 1986, Sansa Stark is cast as a lead in the school musical, along with the popular new girl Margaery, her bestie Brienne, and her nemesis’ brother Tyrion Lannister. Through the chaos of rehearsal, Sansa learns a lot about her castmates, the world, and herself. But newfound knowledge means confronting confusing feelings for a certain brunette.





	Anything Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Just completely ignore the canonical ages for these characters, except for the teachers and parents. Brienne, Jaime, Cersei, Renly, Margaery, Robb, Jon, Bronn, Ros are seniors (18). Sansa, Tyrion, Loras, and Shae are juniors (17). Pod is a sophomore and Arya is a freshman. 
> 
> Also I made a playlist that goes along with this story here: https://open.spotify.com/user/curiouscarson/playlist/2gXFCDNeRcC6OCSMMKrBHq

** Cast of Anything Goes **

Reno Sweeny . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Margaery Tyrell

Billy Crocker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tyrion Lannister

Hope Harcourt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sansa Stark

Moonface Martin . . . . . . . . . . . . Bronn Blackwater

Sir Evelyn Oakleigh . . . . . . . . . . Renly Baratheon

Mrs. Evangeline Harcourt . . . . . . Brienne Tarth

Bonnie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ros Snow 

 

Nobody at King’s High would  be surprised to hear that the midyear transplant from Southern California snatched the lead in the school musical. She had blown everyone away with her rendition of “Love is a Battlefield” at karaoke night. She claimed to have studied ballet and tap since she was three. And if you asked her if she knew any movie stars, being from L.A., she’d giggle and name drop Michael J. Fox or Molly Ringwald. 

 

Sansa wasn’t disappointed with her part,  truly. Hope would be a good fit for her. She wouldn’t be in the center of the spotlight, but she would have a solo and two duets. 

 

And there lied the problem. 

 

When the play begins, Hope Harcourt  is engaged to the pompous, English aristocrat Sir Evelyn Oakleigh ( Renly Baratheon got that part, and he’d always been kind to Sansa).  But Hope’s real love interest is the fast-talking, trouble-making, young Wall Street broker, Billy Crocker. 

 

Played by Tyrion Lannister. 

 

Tyrion Lannister, whose sister had tormented her since middle school.

 

Tyrion Lannister, who was always top of the class and made it look effortless, while Sansa studied hours to get good grades . 

 

Tyrion Lannister, the _little person._

 

“Sansa! Wait up!” She turned to see Margaery Tyrell running toward her. 

 

“Did you see the cast list? Mr. Davos  just posted it. Can you believe it?” She squeezed her arm  excitedly. 

 

Margaery was one of those  physically affectionate people who always found some way to be touching you.  Coming from a family that was, although very loving, a bit more reserved, Sansa  initially hadn’t known how to react every time Margaery greeted her with a tight hug or touched her arm as she told a joke. But over time, Sansa had grown to look forward to the casual touches whenever she was in the other girl’s presence.

 

“Congratulations,” Sansa smiled, “You’ll make an ah-mazing Reno. It’s like the part  was written for you.”

 

“As if!  That’s sweet of you to say though,” Margaery tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder, then linked their arms together. 

 

“Come on, walk with me to my car so we can talk. You don’t seem as happy as I thought you’d be. Hope is a  totally awesome part!”

 

Sansa wasn't sure why the popular new girl had taken an interest in her. Since middle school, she had always tried to blend in. She learned the hard way that it was easier to avoid bullying that way.  But although she tried to dress like everyone else, hardly ever spoke up in class, and (aside from theatre) never called attention to herself, Margaery had gone out of her way to talk to Sansa whenever possible. Tried to get to know her, as if Sansa’s boring life was somehow fascinating to her.

 

“I’m happy with _my_ part. It’s  just, did you see who’ll be playing Billy?” Sansa cringed. 

 

“Tyrion, right? What’s wrong with that? He did an amazing job in Richard III this fall.”

 

“But - how am I supposed to dance with him? How am I supposed to pretend to fall in love with him? How am I - oh my god!”

 

“What?” Margaery asked.

 

“I’ll have to kiss him, aren’t I?” Sansa tried to imagine it. Would she bend over? Or would he be standing on something?

 

“That’s what the script says, last I checked.”

 

“I don’t want my first kiss to be with _Tyrion Lannister.”_

 

“Your first kiss, that’s adorable, Sansa.” She couldn’t help blushing. She knew Margaery was far more experienced than her, and now she regretted bringing it up.

 

“I guess you’ll have to work in some practice first,” Margaery smirked. 

 

“You’re not helping, Marge.”

 

“Has Tyrion done anything to you? Bullied you or . . . ?”

 

“No, he’s always been nice to me. Or tried to be at least.”

 

“Then what’s the problem?”

 

Sansa gave Margaery a look. Was she playing dumb, or  just trying to be kind?

 

“He’s rather good-looking, even with the scars from the accident,” she said.

 

“He’s a dwarf.”

 

Margaery shrugged, “Some women like tall men. Some like short men. Some like hairy men. Some like bald men. Gentle men, rough men, ugly men, pretty men, pretty girls.”

 

She looked at Sansa and smiled,  “Most women don’t know what they like until they’ve tried it.”

 

As she was saying this, they turned a corner, and Sansa noticed another cast member making a call at the payphone. 

 

Margaery waved, “Brienne, did you see the cast list?”

 

Brienne finished her call and walked over to them. “I did. I was  just telling my dad. He seemed pleased.”

 

Sansa had  been surprised and delighted when Brienne auditioned for the spring play.  Surprised, because Brienne usually kept busy with basketball, softball, and swim team (Sansa suspected she had only auditioned because she had long harbored a secret crush on  Renly Baratheon).  And delighted because Brienne had been her best friend since sixth grade (When she’d punched Ramsay Bolton in the face for making crude comments toward Sansa). 

 

“The casting worked out great,” Margaery said, “You two will get to be in so many scenes together.”  Brienne was, after all, playing Hope’s overbearing mother, a role not too far from their normal friendship dynamic.

 

“I  just hope I don’t embarrass myself,” Brienne said. Like Sansa, Brienne usually preferred to blend in. She already got enough unwanted attention thanks to her exceptional height. 

 

“As if! You’ll be great,” Margaery said.

 

She had made a good point. Sans would be in as many scenes with Brienne and Margaery as she would be with Tyrion Lannister. They would spend all their afternoons together at rehearsal.  Perhaps this play will be a good experience after all. 

 

 

* * *

 

Sansa checked her watch. She was going to be late for the first rehearsal. She  was supposed to be across the school in the auditorium in less than a minute. But of course, Mr. Baelish had held her after class to chastise her about her “wasted potential.”

 

She booked it across the school, paused a moment to catch her breath, and opened the doors as  quietly as she could to sneak into the back of the house. 

 

She saw Bronn and Tyrion lounging in the light booth with Pod, the assistant to the director, who was detangling microphones . Tyrion’s brother Jaime was there too, even though he wasn't in the cast.

 

Just here to hang out with his friends, Sansa thought. He must have too much free time now that he can’t play football.

 

Everyone else in the cast was sitting in the front few rows of the auditorium, as Mr. Davos called out the names.  

 

“Ros Snow?” She waved her hand to show Davos that she was here. 

 

“Yeah, I’d fuck her,” Bronn said under his breath, earning a small chuckle from Tyrion. 

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. Why did boys have to be so vulgar?

 

“Brienne Tarth” 

 

“I’d fuck her too.” Bronn turned to Pod, “You’d fuck her, wouldn’t you?”

 

Pod blushed and looked like he’d rather die than answer the question. 

 

Bronn grabbed Jaime’s shoulder, “You’d fuck her, that’s for sure.”

 

Jamie glared at Bronn, but neither confirmed Bronn’s statement nor rushed to defend Brienne’s honor . Sansa's stomach churned to hear them talk about her friend like that. 

 

_He’s_ _probably_ _embarrassed,_ Sansa thought.  She knew, because her mother happened to also be their English teacher, that Brienne tutored Jaime twice a week. 

 

She remembered when she had asked Brienne about it:

 

“He must be even more of a doofus than I thought.” Sansa had said.

 

“He's not a doofus.”

 

“Then why do you have to tutor him?”

 

“Because Mrs. Stark asked me to.” Brienne was always the perfect teacher’s pet around her mom.

 

“But why does he need tutoring if he’s not at least a little bit of a doofus?”

 

“Because he has to keep his grades up to stay on the football team.  And because he's under a lot of pressure from his father, and because-” Brienne stopped herself mid-sentence.

 

“Because what?"

 

“No, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of your business.”

 

“Bri, the best friend pact means no secrets,” Sansa said giving Brienne her best pleading look.  They’d made a pledge to each other back in middle school, and Sansa knew Brienne would always follow through with her promises. 

 

“Fine, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

 

“I promise.”

 

Brienne had looked around as if to make sure no one was listening to their conversation, then said: “He’s dyslexic.”

 

Sansa had  been surprised, King’s golden boy was human after all, but she recovered  quickly. 

 

“Well, that's nothing to  be ashamed of.”

 

“Of course it isn't. He doesn’t even _need_ tutoring, I mostly just read aloud. But still, he doesn't want anyone to know.” Brienne had insisted that Sansa wouldn’t tell anyone. 

 

Looking at the company he was keeping now, it’s was hard for Sansa to see why Brienne was so insistent on defending him.  Although even Sansa had to admit, something about him had changed since he had to have his hand amputated this past summer. He no longer strutted around the school like he owned it (although his father could  probably buy it if he wanted to). 

 

“Sansa Stark,” Davos’s voice snapped Sansa’s attention away from the boys in the lighting booth. “So nice of you join us. Now, we can begin our read-through, if you in the back wouldn’t mind coming to sit with the rest of us.” 

 

Tyrion and Bronn stood up and followed Sansa down the aisle to the stage.

 

“Mr. Jaime, have you decided you’d like a part in our show?”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare drag down the quality of what I’m sure will be a fine production, sir,” Jaime said with a smirk. Well, she never said his arrogance  had gone completely. 

 

“Then you’ll stop distracting my cast members.”  Mr. Davos said, not  rudely, but in a way that left no room for argument, “If you change your mind, we always need people to help with the set.”

 

Jaime meandered out of the theatre, as Davos addressed the cast.

 

“Now, today we’re going to run through the script.  For the rest of the week, I’ll work with the leads on blocking, while the ensemble works with Mrs. Melisandre on choreography and vocals.”

 

It was common knowledge that Mr. Davos, the theatre teacher, did _not_ get along with their new-age chorus director, Mrs. Melisandre. And yet, they had to work together on the musical each spring.  Margaery often did funny imitations of the two, crafting an elaborate backstory to explain the grudge that involved a passionate affair on the coast of South Africa. Sansa exchanged a look with her and had to suppress a giggle.

 

“Now Act I, Scene 1, Tyrion you have the first line . . .”

 

* * * 

 

Without a car of her own, Sansa usually stayed after school until her mom  was done grading papers or Robb’s football practice was over. That was how she had gotten involved in theatre to begin with. It gave her something to do in the hours between the last bell and when she could finally go home. 

 

But Mr. Davos’s daughter was sick, so he had canceled practice for the day. Sansa was working on homework in the library like she did when she wasn’t involved in a show. But today was better than most days, because Margaery had chosen to wait after school with her. 

 

“Do you know the differences between plant cells and animal cells? I have the cell wall and the mitochondria, but it says to list _three_ differences?”

 

“Sorry hon, but I’m taking Chemistry.”

 

Sansa sighed. My. Baelish had been explaining it today, but she had zoned out for part of his lecture, eager for the school day to be over. She looked around hoping to find a librarian who could help and found someone even better. Her lab-partner, Shae, was browsing a nearby shelf. Sansa waved and started to say hello, but Shae glared at her and marched out of the library. 

 

“Gee, if looks could kill,” Margaery said. 

 

“What’s her damage?”  Sansa had always gotten along with Shae (They’d  initially bonded when she made fun of Mr. Baelish’s mustache and creepy voice). She couldn’t think of what she might have done to warrant the cold shoulder. 

 

“Well, you know she’s going with Tyrion.” 

 

Sansa looked at Margaery in confusion. She knew no such thing. 

 

“They try to keep it secret because his father disapproves. She’s  probably jealous. And she didn’t even get a speaking part, poor thing. I thought she would’ve made a good Bonnie, don’t you?”

 

“So she’s mad at me for something I don’t even want to do?”

 

“She just  needs to take a chill pill. She’ll get over it.”

 

Sansa certainly  hoped so, she wasn’t in a hurry to lose the few friends she had.

 

Seeing the apprehension that must have been evident on her face, Margaery added, “Don’t worry. Cersei Lannister has been giving me the same look since I moved here. If I haven’t  spontaneously combusted yet, you’ll be fine.”

 

Sansa was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Shae was dating Tyrion. Shae was beautiful and whip-smart. Sansa was sure she could have her pick of guys at this school and beyond, and she chose _Tyrion Lannister?_

 

Sansa thought back to what Margaery had said the other day.  Maybe Shae prefered short men?  Sansa supposed  just because she couldn’t find Tyrion  _remotely_ attractive, that didn’t mean no one could find him attractive. 

 

Thinking this reminded her of something else Margaery had said then.  Something that she hadn’t given much thought at the time, but as she played back the conversation in her head, it stood out as odd. She was sure Margaery had  just misspoke, but  maybe she should make sure. 

 

“Margaery, last week when we were talking about the casting?” Sansa started. 

 

"Mmm hmm."

 

“You were talking about how some girls like all different types of men, but then you said some like pretty girls.”

 

Margaery nodded.

 

“You meant, some men like pretty girls, right?”

 

Margaery let out a little laugh. “No, I meant some girls like pretty girls. Some like girls, and some like men, and some like both.”

 

“But . . .” Sansa started, but had no idea how to finish, so she just stared at Margaery hoping she would explain. 

 

“Like home some men like men, and some like women, and some like both.”

 

Sansa continued to gape at her.  If she wracked her brain, she thought she could recall some preacher mentioning perverts and sodomites, lecherous old men who assault little boys, but Margaery was speaking as if what she was explaining were  perfectly normal.

 

“Sansa, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of queer people before?”

 

Sansa shook her head.

 

“Well it’s nothing to  be scandalized by, though some people will tell you otherwise. It’s  just, you think someone’s cute. They make you laugh and smile, and like, you want to kiss them.  Maybe hold their hand,” She reached out and grabbed Sansa’s hand as if to  demonstrate.  

 

“And you  happen to both be girls. Or both be boys. It’s no different than the love between a woman and a man. Well, except the parts that are different,” she said with a smirk.

 

Sansa tried to make sense of this. If a girl made her laugh and smile, that meant they were friends.  Just like her and Margaery. Or Brienne, or Shae. She didn’t want to kiss them, because they were girls. That wasn’t how it worked. 

 

“You  really had no idea? I mean, I knew this was a small town, but I didn’t think you all were, like, that closed minded.”

 

“No. This is the first anyone’s told me anything like this.”

 

“Well, that explains why my-” Margaery stopped herself.

 

“Explains what?”

 

Margaery hesitated a moment before she answered. “That explains the way you acted around my brother Loras after his first game.”

 

Sansa blushed. When Loras had taken of his helmet. Sweaty, but still  undeniably pretty, she couldn’t help developing a bit of a crush.

 

“You were enamored with him,” Margaery teased. 

 

“The whole school was enamoured with him,” Sansa defended herself. “He was the savior of the football team.”

 

Since King’s High’s star quarterback wrecked his right hand in a car crash, the team began the fall season at the bottom of the rankings. Then the Tyrell’s moved to town. Loras was so good at his old school (or the coach was so desperate) he immediately gave him a spot on team. They went on to win the state championships.  If Loras’s popularity wasn’t already guaranteed by his status as the cute new guy, his skill on the field had secured it  indefinitely.

 

“Well, I hate to break your heart, but Loras is gay,” Margaery explained. “He’s only interested in boys. Well, one boy in particular as of late.”

 

Sansa tried to picture it, Loras kissing another boy, but it was like her brain couldn’t form the image. She had never seen anything like it. Picturing him holding another boy's hand was easier, though still a bit strange. 

 

She looked down to where Margaery’s hand was still on top of hers. 

 

Suddenly uncomfortable, Sansa checked her watch. It was late enough she could go see if her mom was ready to leave yet. She didn’t know how to sit there with Margaery after the conversation they’d  just had. 

 

“I have to go now,” she said as she gathered her books. “My mom will be waiting on me.”

 

Before she could turn to go, Margaery grabbed her arm. “By the way, my parents are going out of town this weekend. Loras and I are throwing a party Friday night. Most of the cast will be there, and everybody on the football team. You’ll come, right?”

 

Margaery flashed her prettiest smile, and Sansa felt like melted putty. 

 

“Of course I’ll be there.”

 

* * * 

 

Margaery’s party was in full swing when Sansa got there.  Like she said, Loras had invited the entire football team, who then invited the whole basketball team. Robb and Jon had driven ahead with their friends, and Sansa spent an hour to convince Brienne to take her. And an hour more trying to convince Brienne to let her pick out her outfit and do her makeup. 

 

“It doesn’t matter what you put me in, I’ll look ridiculous,” she had protested. 

 

Sansa didn’t think that was fair. Sure, Brienne wasn’t who you immediately thought of when asked to name the prettiest girls at school. But she was fit and had gorgeous eyes that stood out like sapphires whenever she wore blue. And Sansa knew better than to force her toy-boyish friend in a frilly, feminine dress. She  just wanted her to try to be a little more stylish than her customary jeans and a men’s shirt. 

 

Brienne had to park a block away because of all the cars that were already there. They trudged to the house together, but Brienne managed to disappear as soon as they were inside.

 

Sansa wandered through the Tyrell home (mansion might be the better word). In the living room, people had deposited their coats, bags, and a few pairs of impractical heels. In the kitchen, there was an assortment of sodas and cheap beers, as well as a bowl of some sort of punch. Sansa grabbed an unopened can at random to have something in her hand. On the back porch, people were smoking, but she didn’t dare try that at a party with both her older brothers and Brienne.  In the den, the couches had  been pushed aside and people were dancing, but Sansa had no desire to  be pressed between so many sweaty bodies. 

 

She spotted Margaery  briefly, but she was with her more popular friends, so Sansa waved and kept walking. 

 

It  clearly wasn't only the teams and the cast at the party. In fact, it looked like most of the school was there. There were geeks, punks, Spicolis, jocks.  The only person Sansa  was surprised to see was Cersei Lannister, only because she hated the Tyrells.

 

Cersei was the head cheerleader and the president of the student council, the de facto top of the high school food chain.  With her brother as the quarterback and her father being one of the most prominent men in town, she had ruled the school. 

 

When the Tyrells moved to town, they challenged  all of that. But despite her animosity toward the family, Cersei couldn’t afford to miss such a social event.  So she stood in the dining room, sipping wine and surveying the student body, no doubt making snide comments to whoever would listen.

 

Past the line for the bathroom, there was a game room with a pool table, a ping pong table, and even a Nintendo system. She found Brienne playing against Jon’s friend, Sam.  Sitting next to them on the chunky sectional sofa was Sam’s girlfriend, a homeschooled girl she’d only met once before, named Jill or Ginny or something. 

 

Sansa sat down next to them, and saw the girl was petting a small cat. Sansa was more of a dog person, but she had nothing better to do, so she reached out to stroke its fur. 

 

“What’s its name?”

 

“His name tag says Tommen.  There was another one named Ser Pounce, but he ran off when those boys came in,” she nodded to the group of rowdy boys crowding around the tables. Sansa recognized Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion, and a few of Jon’s friends.

 

Sansa was watching Brienne school Sam on the Nintendo, when Margaery burst through the doorway, with Jon close at her heels .

 

“Here she is,” Margaery said waving in the direction of the sectional. “I told you had no reason to worry. She’s hanging out with the rest of the wallflowers.” 

 

Margaery draped herself across the back of the couch behind Sansa. “Sansa dear, I invited you to the party so you would party. You’re being much too serious for your own good.”   

 

“I’m having fun, with –  Gilly.” That was the girl’s name, she remembered. 

 

“Wait here, I’m going to be right back,” Margaery said and she swept out of the room. 

 

Jon sat down on the couch, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your fun. I  just wanted to make sure nobody was . . . taking advantage of you or anything.”

 

“I’m fine, Jon.”

 

A moment later, Margaery ran back into the room, now with a bottle of vodka.

 

“We’re going to play a game. You two, as well,” she said to her brother and  Renly, who  were bent over the pool table, Loras showing  Renly how to hold the cue. 

 

“It called Truth or Drink,” she said sitting the spirits down on the coffee table between them. 

 

“How do you play that?”  Gilly asked. 

 

“It’s like truth or dare, but with drinking. Someone, like, asks you a question and you can either answer it  honestly or take a sip,” she explained. “And I’ll  totally know if you’re lying, so don’t even think about it. Ok?”

 

Everyone in their group nodded  reluctantly.

 

“Ok, I’ll go first. Sansa,” Margaery paused to think about it. “Have you ever tried pot?”

 

Jon moved to get up, “I’m not sure I want to play this game with my sister.”

 

“Boo. You’re no fun. Sit down,” Margaery said waving her hand at him.

 

“No, I haven’t,” Sansa admitted.

 

“Now it’s your turn to ask someone. Anyone in our group.” 

 

“Uh, Loras, what do you miss most about California?”

 

Loras looked confused for a moment, then smirked and said, “Surfing. But that’s not  really the kind of questions you supposed to ask. See, like, Sam, are you a virgin?”

 

Sam eyes went wide for a moment and then he  quickly grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

 

“It’s nothing to  be embarrassed about, Sam,”  Gilly said, removing any doubt anyone may have had about what the answer was. Loras and  Renly snickered.  

 

“Do I still get to ask a question?” Sam asked. 

 

“Yes”

 

“Jon, have you ever cheated on a test?”

 

“No,” Jon said without hesitation. 

 

“Now, you have to ask a question,” Margaery said.

 

“Uh, what’s your most embarrassing moment?” he asked back. 

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Margaery tossed her long curly hair behind one shoulder. “One time I  accidentally wandered into the men’s locker room. That was pretty embarrassing.” 

 

“Brienne, describe your ideal man,” Margaery asked with a glint in her eyes. Sansa suspected she was plotting to set Brienne up with somebody. 

 

Brienne looked uncomfortable, “What do you mean?”

 

“Like, what are you attracted to?  Like, for example, if you asked me what I look for in a romantic partner, I’d say someone clever enough to keep up with me, tall, and I’ve always thought red hair is sexy. Someone with a sensitive side –”

 

“You know, Tormund is right over there playing beer pong.  I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear your interested,” Jon gestured over to where his friend was chugging beer with Gendry Waters, the captain of rowing team Arya was so fond of. 

 

“Ugh, gag me with a spoon, that is not who I meant. Anyway, Brienne, this  was supposed to be your question.”

 

Brienne looked pensive, contemplating the best way to answer the question  honestly but without embarrassment. _She could_ _just_ _take a swig of the vodka,_ Sansa thought. _As large as she was one sip_ _probably_ _wouldn’t even affect her._ But Sansa knew Brienne refused to do anything that might jeopardize her college athletic scholarship, even one drop of alcohol. 

 

“Someone principled,” Brienne said finally. “Someone not afraid to stand up for what’s right. And funny, I guess, someone who can make me laugh.”

 

“Brienne, we’ve gone to school together for years, I can’t think of anyone who’s made you laugh,” Jon said.

 

“Well,  maybe you don’t know him,” Brienne snapped back. 

 

“Besides,” Sam cut in. “Who are you to judge, Mr. Brooding McCurls?” 

 

Everyone laughed at that, except of course, for Brienne and Jon, who  merely smiled. 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa knew from last year’s production of _Bye Bye Birdie_ that learning choreography was a tedious, time consuming process. Her least favorite type of rehearsal by far. You had to spend ten minutes breaking down and going over each movement that would be ten seconds in the show. And then you had to put it together with the rest of the steps and run in over and over again until you had it memorized. All the while avoiding imagined obstacles that would be in your way when the set  was finished. 

 

None of that  was made easier when your dance partner was more than a foot shorter than you. 

 

Mrs. Melisandre moved around the stage, preaching the importance of conveying emotion through the art of dance . “You have to make the audience _feel_ the love you feel for each other,” she would say. 

 

If there was any consolation, it was that Tyrion seem to feel as uncomfortable about the situation as she did . He kept glancing towards the audience where Shae was sitting with the rest of the ensemble. She didn’t look happy either. 

 

“Run it from the beginning of the dance break,” Melisandre commanded in her sharp accent. 

 

Sansa and Tyrion walked back downstage, then turned to face each other holding hands. 

 

Melisandre rewound the tape they were working with and pressed play. “5 - 6 - 7 - 8”

 

Sansa spun out from Tyrion, holding onto his left hand, which he then used to spin her around him. She slid behind him with her arms out, as he slid in the opposite direction. Releasing her arms were at the wrong angle, she  quickly switched them. _This is already going_ _terribly_ , she thought. 

 

Simultaneously , they did a jazz square, then a sort of side to side waltz step. Paused for a count then stepping into a pivot turn. The music swelled here, and Sansa was sure the original composer had intended for a the actors to do a lift at this part. 

 

Instead, she made an extra turn so she was facing Tyrion and sashayed in his direction as he walked backwards. Mrs. Melisandre said this  was supposed to be a seductive, beckoning movement.  But Tyrion must have been focusing on the footwork, because his face conveyed nothing resembling seduction.

 

She extended her hand and he pulled her into a ballroom hold. _This was the worst part,_ Sansa thought. She felt as if he was looking  directly up into her breasts. 

 

“Don’t slouch Sansa. Bend from your knees.”  Sansa tried to straighten her back while lowering her torso as they box stepped their way back across the stage, before he (finally) spun her away from him. 

 

Holding one hand again, there was another eight count of Charleston steps and a fan kick, before they wound up facing each other again . That was the end of the choreography they’d learned so far, and the cast recording started singing again.

 

“So please be sweet, my chickadee . . .”

 

Melisandre spoke over the music saying, “You won’t be dancing here.  Just hold each other tight and look into each other's eyes as he sings to her.”

 

“ . . . and when I kiss you  just say to me, ‘It’s delightful, it’s delicious . . .” The voice cut off and  was replaced by a sultry saxophone sound. 

 

Melissandre explained, “And here, of course, is where Hope kisses Billy. It is as if she is overcome with passion, she cannot even wait for him to finish the line.”

 

Sansa’s head snapped to look at Mrs. Melisandre.  The terror she felt must have shown on her face, because she said “Don’t worry child, you do not have to practice this part today. Mr. Davos usually will not make you until the week of the show. I am  just trying to show you the role you will play.”

 

This didn’t make Sansa relax much. She didn’t want to kiss Tyrion now and she didn’t see that changing in the next few weeks. 

 

“You two take five. Everybody else, get into position for ‘Blow, Gabriel Blow.’”

 

* * * 

  

Sansa knew from last year’s production of Bye Bye Birdie that learning choreography was a tedious, time consuming process. Her least favorite type of rehearsal by far. You had to spend ten minutes breaking down and going over each movement that would be ten seconds in the show. And then you had to put it together with the rest of the steps and run in over and over again until you had it memorized. All the while avoiding imagined obstacles that would be in your way when the set was finished.

None of that was made easier when your dance partner was more than a foot shorter than you.

Mrs. Melisandre moved around the stage, preaching the importance of conveying emotion through the art of dance . “You have to make the audience feel the love you feel for each other,” she would say.

If there was any consolation, it was that Tyrion seem to feel as uncomfortable about the situation as she did . He kept glancing towards the audience where Shae was sitting with the rest of the ensemble. She didn’t look happy either. 

“Run it from the beginning of the dance break,” Melisandre commanded in her sharp accent.

Sansa and Tyrion walked back downstage, then turned to face each other holding hands.

Melisandre rewound the tape they were working with and pressed play. “5 - 6 - 7 - 8”

Sansa spun out from Tyrion, holding onto his left hand, which he then used to spin her around him. She slid behind him with her arms out, as he slid in the opposite direction. Releasing her arms were at the wrong angle, she quickly switched them. This is already going terribly, she thought.

Simultaneously , they did a jazz square, then a sort of side to side waltz step. Paused for a count then stepping into a pivot turn. The music swelled here, and Sansa was sure the original composer had intended for a the actors to do a lift at this part.

Instead, she made an extra turn so she was facing Tyrion and sashayed in his direction as he walked backwards. Mrs. Melisandre said this was supposed to be a seductive, beckoning movement. But Tyrion must have been focusing on the footwork, because his face conveyed nothing resembling seduction.

She extended her hand and he pulled her into a ballroom hold. This was the worst part, Sansa thought. She felt as if he was looking directly up into her breasts.

“Don’t slouch Sansa. Bend from your knees.” Sansa tried to straighten her back while lowering her torso as they box stepped their way back across the stage, before he (finally) spun her away from him.

Holding one hand again, there was another eight count of Charleston steps and a fan kick, before they wound up facing each other again . That was the end of the choreography they’d learned so far, and the cast recording started singing again.

“So please be sweet, my chickadee . . .”

Melisandre spoke over the music saying, “You won’t be dancing here. Just hold each other tight and look into each other's eyes as he sings to her.”

“ . . . and when I kiss you just say to me, ‘It’s delightful, it’s delicious . . .” The voice cut off and was replaced by a sultry saxophone sound.

Melissandre explained, “And here, of course, is where Hope kisses Billy. It is as if she is overcome with passion, she cannot even wait for him to finish the line.”

Sansa’s head snapped to look at Mrs. Melisandre. The terror she felt must have shown on her face, because she said “Don’t worry child, you do not have to practice this part today. Mr. Davos usually will not make you until the week of the show. I am just trying to show you the role you will play.”

This didn’t make Sansa relax much. She didn’t want to kiss Tyrion now and she didn’t see that changing in the next few weeks.

“You two take five. Everybody else, get into position for ‘Blow, Gabriel Blow.’”

* * *

 Sansa flopped back onto Margaery’s bed.

“It was awful.”

“You’re totally being too hard on yourself,” Margaery said kicking off her shoes. “Not to mention, too hard on Tyrion. It was only the first rehearsal. It’s bound to get better.”

Sensing Sansa’s fowl mood at rehearsal, Margaery had invited her to her house for dinner to cheer her up. Margaery had taken her up to her bedroom, which she didn't have the opportunity to see the other night at the party. It was impeccably neat and distinctively Margaery. The walls were a pretty light turquoise. Her white dresser was covered in make-up. Where most teenagers covered their walls in posters of their favorite band and actors, Margaery had framed black and white photographs of Paris. Sansa felt as she had when she first met Margaery. Here was a girl who was so classy, so elegant, that standing next to her made you feel plain.

“What was your first kiss like?” Sansa asked, before she could stop herself. It was a juvenile question, she knew, but she wanted Margaery to reassure her it was going to be ok. She wanted to understand how Margaery did it. How she appeared so effortlessly cool. How she made everybody love her.

 

“My first kiss,” Margaery paused to think, as she said on the edge of the bed next to Sansa. “I suppose technically was when I was third grade. He was a boy in my class. We would always color together. My friend Alana dared me to kiss him. So at recess, I walk right up to him and mwah,” she gave a kiss to the air, “kissed him.”

She smiled at Sansa. “I mean, it was like, a peck.”

“My first real kiss was when I was fourteen. I was at a sleepover. Another friend, named Elinor, was telling me about a guy she liked. She wanted to kiss him, but she was nervous, so I told her she could practice with me if she liked.

“And she did.” Margaery lay back on the bed so she was lying right next to Sansa. “That kiss was more intense.”

“You kissed a girl?” Sansa asked.

Margaery propped her head on her hand so she was looking down at Sansa, “Does that surprise you?”

Sansa thought back to the conversation they had in the library the other week. She had said some girls like girls, and some girls like both. And that her brother preferred boys. She hadn’t said anything about herself though.

“It was just for practice?” Sansa asked.

Margaery hummed softly. “For Elinor, I think.”

She dragged her other hand gently across Sansa’s arm. Sansa felt like she was covered in goosebumps.

Without looking directly at Sansa, Margaery asked, “Do you want to practice?”

Sansa felt like her throat was closing. She did want to practice with Margaery. The thought of having her first kiss be with her sounded about a million times better than with Tyrion. But she didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t want it to mean that she was gay.

Margaery moved her hand from Sansa’s arm, and brushed the hair that had fallen in front of Sansa’s face back behind her ear, letting her fingers linger in Sansa’s auburn locks.

“It wouldn’t have to mean anything, if you didn’t want it to. I just thought you’d rather your first kiss happen in private, rather than in front of the entire cast, you know?”

Swallowing her nerves, Sansa moved forward so her face was only an inch away from hers.

“Are you sure?” Margaery asked.

Sansa nodded.

Margaery closed the remaining distance between them and gently pressed her lips to Sansa’s.

 

 Sansa felt frozen. She didn’t want to pull away, but she didn’t know how to move. Margaery smelled like roses, she thought.

After a moment, Margaery angled her head a bit more, taking Sansa’s bottom lip between hers and tightening her grip in her hair. The small part of her brain that could still think logically knew this was still relatively tame as far as kisses went (aside from the fact they were laying in Margaery's bed). But after a only few seconds it was too much. She felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest.

She pulled away. She watched Margaery’s eyes open, and her expression quickly flicker from desire to concern.

“Thank you,” Sansa blurted, before Margaery could say anything. She didn’t want Margaery to pity or coddle her now. “I don’t think I’ll have to do more than that for the show.”

 

Margaery’s face returned to a smile and she fell back to the bed.

“I hope I wasn’t a disappointment. You deserve to have an ah-mazing first kiss. An amazing every kiss, for that matter.”

 

Sansa grabbed Margaery’s hand where it had fallen between them, initializing contact between them for once, “It was lovely. Thank you.”

“You said that already.” Margaery laughed. “ Maybe my kissing skills are better than I thought, if they rendered you redundant.”

Before Sansa could defend herself, she heard Margaery’s father calling them to dinner, breaking the tension between them.

 

Margaery dragged herself up off the bed. “Thank god, I’m starved. Choreography sure wears you out, huh?”

* * *

“That’s gotta be awkward.” Brienne nodded her head to the stage where Margaery and Renly were rehearsing the scene where her character tries to seduce his. Brienne and Sansa were sitting in the house seats, working on homework until it was time for their scenes.

 

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked. Renly did look uncomfortable with Margaery-as-Reno provocatively leaning towards him. But she thought that was just his acting.

 

“Well, because he’s, you know,” Brienne dropped her voice to a whisper, “He’s dating her brother, isn’t he?”

“How did you know that?” Sansa whispered back.

Brienne snorted. “Well, they’re not exactly subtle about it.”

 

“But I thought . . . “ Sansa trailed off. When had Brienne gotten over Renly ?

“What? You didn’t think that I still liked him, did you? That was, like, such a middle school crush. And I only liked him because he was the only guy in the whole school who didn’t tease me when I hit my growth spurt.”

 

“So you don’t have a problem with it?”

“With what?”

 

Sansa dropped her voice, “With gay people?”

 

“Of course I don’t have a problem with it. Do you know how many people have called me a dyke because I have short hair?”

 

Sansa’s head was reeling with this information. She’d come to see her library conversation with Margaery as her telling her a secret. Now she was starting to feel like the only person in the world who hadn’t known about homosexuality.

 

She felt sickeningly naive. She looked back to the stage where Renly-as-Evelyn was misinterpreting Reno’s advances.

 

What made it so obvious that he was gay? Can you just tell? Could everyone tell that she’d kissed Margaery? Not that it meant anything. No, someone would’ve said something. But Brienne sounded like she wouldn’t have a problem with it, and she had never said anything about Renly.

 

“Wait a minute,” she turned back to Brienne, “The other night at Margaery’s party when we were playing truth or dare. You had to describe your ideal man, and then you said you had someone in mind, someone who went to our school.”

“You thought I was talking about Renly ?” Brienne asked in disbelief.

“Well if not Renly, then who?”

 

Brienne blushed fiercely, and turned back to face the stage. “No one. I - I made something up.”

 

Sansa could tell she was lying, and for a moment thought about using their best friend pact to force her to tell.

Why should she have to tell you? Said a traitorous voice in her head. You didn’t tell her about you and Margaery.

Sansa shook her head as if that would make her thoughts go away. There was nothing to tell about her and Margaery. Margaery was doing her a favor. It didn’t mean anything, she had said as much.

And she was sure Brienne would tell her about her secret crush in her own time.

* * *

Sansa loved tap dancing. The chipper sound of a dozen pairs of tap shoes rhythmically stepping and stomping away filled the theatre. She wished she had learned how to tap years ago. But her character had no need to be in this song, so she got to sit back and watch the rest of the cast run the fun, flirty titular number. The sheer amount of energy it required always astounded her. Not to mention the precision. An entire company moving their legs, knees, ankles, feet in exactly the same way at exactly the same time. It was amazing. 

Margaery made one final stop and had a second to catch her breath before resuming singing, “They think he’s gangster number one, so they’ve made him their favorite son, and that goes to show, anything goes.”

The ensemble joined in, in ascending pitches, “Anything, anything, anything . . .”

“Anything goes . . .” Margaery belted out the final note, proving yet again how talented she was, and how perfect for the part, as the company struck their final pose.

“Not bad at all,” Mr. Davos said with applause, “You lot keep working that hard and this show might just come together on time. Take ten and the we’ll start act two.”

The ensemble began to disperse, to grab water or chat among themselves or simply sit down and rest their feet for a moment.

“Oh, and Miss Margaery and Miss Sansa, there are some costumes in the girl’s dressing room for you to try on. Please do so before you’re needed on stage again.”

Margaery nodded at Davos’s, then turned to walk back stage, her tap shoe clopping away. Sansa hesitated for a moment before putting away her homework and following.

 

She hadn’t been alone with Margaery in two weeks, since they had been “practicing” in her bedroom. Sure, she saw her at rehearsal and in the classes they shared, but there were always friends, cast mates, teachers with them.

 

She knew Margaery could tell. Could feel her pulling away. Finding excuses to cut every conversation short. And she knew Margaery was smart enough to know why. Which only made her embarrassment and desire to avoid Margaery worse.

 

Sansa had tried to put that afternoon out of her mind. She was desperate for their friendship to return to normal.  But her mind kept replaying the kiss over and over again. Every time she saw Margaery, every time she saw something that reminded her of Margaery.

Each French class reminded her of the photos on her wall. Each family dinner reminded her of the one she shared withMargaery's brother and father that night. Each time she rehearsed De-Lovely, or another one of her scenes with Tyrion, she wasn’t thinking about Tyrion or Billy or Evelyn or Loras or any other boys she’d had passing crushes on. She was thinking about Margaery.

 

But that didn’t mean anything, right? It was her first kiss. It was normal to be freaked out about that, right? It didn’t mean she was gay, right?

What had Margaery said? “You think someone’s cute.” Well, Margaery was gorgeous, easily the prettiest girl in school. But that was just a fact. Anyone would say the same.

“They make you laugh and smile.” But anybody could do that. Her other friends, her brothers and sister, that didn’t mean she wanted to date them. That meant they got along.  

“And, you want to kiss them,” she had said. And Sansa had kissed Margaery. But the way Margaery had said it, she knew she meant more that a quick smooch. You want them, she had seemed to say.

Easy enough for Margaery to say, but Sansa barely understood what happened between a man and woman. What were two women supposed to want to do to each other?

If you were gay, that meant you felt the same way about girls that most girls feel about boys Sansa thought about the boys she had liked. She had never seriously been in love. There was a boy she’d had a crush on throughout middle school. Freshman year she finally worked up the courage to get to know him, only to realise he was a huge asshole. That’s when she learned that no matter how much her sister may annoy her, she should listen to her when it comes to guys. Arya had realized what he was like long before she had.

 

Then there was Loras. Margaery was right to call it an infatuation. She was more attracted to what he represented: popularity, skill, status, charm, than who he actually was. What she had felt for those boys was nowhere near what she felt for Margaery. Margaery was one of her best friends. They actually talked each other, shared secrets, watched each other’s back. She’d never felt that way about a boy and couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way about a boy.  

By the time Sansa opened the door to the dressing room, Margaery had already ditched the tap shoes and was pulling off her leg warmers. She always dressed for rehearsals like she’d raided the wardrobe department of Flashdance. Given her family’s connections in Hollywood maybe she actually had.

“I think those are for you,” she said gesturing to the evening gowns hanging in one of the cubbies.

Sansa sighed when she saw one of her dresses was pink. She’d been avoiding pink since she read in Seventeen that it clashed with her red hair. Although, this was more of a pale mauve, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Still she grabbed the velvet emerald dress first.

 

She slid out of her jeans, then pulled off her sweater and the camisole underneath in one move. Suddenly self conscious, she glanced back at Margaery.

 

The other girl’s eyes moved from her back to her face, and then quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to be caught staring.

Margaery never blushed. She was the exact opposite of Brienne in that way. While Brienne would turn red as a tomato at the mention of anything even slightly suggestive, Margaery was usually the one making the suggestive comment.

But there was no mistaking the faint pink painted across her cheeks now. It highlighted her cheekbones and made her look, well she was always pretty, but there was something captivating about her blush. A vulnerability you couldn’t usually see with Margaery.

Now it was Sansa’s turn to look away. She quickly threw on the green dress, but as she went to zip up the back it caught on the fabric. God dammit, she thought as she struggled with the pull.

 

“Do you need help?” Margaery asked, now standing right behind her.

 

Sansa nodded, and Margaery gently pulled the fabric on either side together and began to work at the zipper. Sansa tried to ignore her delicate fingers brushing against her back.

“It’s not you. It’s just caught on some fabric,” she said, and with one firm tug freed the zipper and finished the job.

 

“Thank you.” Sansa turned to face her.

“It’s a pretty dress.” Margaery said. “It suits you.”

Margaery looked as if she were about to say something more, but at that moment Ros Snow barged through the door.

“Davos said to show him the costumes before you change back,” she said. “And we’re about to start Act II so you better hurry.”

 

Before Margaery could say what was on her mind, Sansa gave her an apologetic look and rushed out of the dressing room.

* * *

Sansa hunkered down and tried to tune out the sound of a hundred classmates singing "We Are the Champions" at the top of their lungs.Normally, Sansa would wholeheartedly enjoy a lunch time pep rally. Three of her siblings and her best friend were athletes after all, and it was nice to see them get the recognition they deserved. But Davos had held them in practice late last night, and she hadn't had time to finish her biology homework.

 

When the song ended, Principal Mormont announced that it was time to reveal the nominations for prom king and queen. She heard Loras Tyrell's name called out, and in the back of her mind she made a note to congratulate him next time she saw him. Though it certainly wasn't surprising. The next name he called out, however, made her whip her head up and forget about her homework. 

"Robb Stark!”

Sansa supposed she shouldn't be that surprised. Robb was friendly and popular, but he had never expressed interest in something like prom king.

 

Judging by the look on his face, he was surprised too. But all the friends around him started cheering, and the entire basketball team started chanting "the king on the court.” It took Jeor Mormont, intimidating presence that he was, several minutes to get the student body under control again.

“And for prom queen, the nominees are Cersei Lannister . . .” The crowds clapped halfheartedly. Considering that in the fall, she had won homecoming queen uncontested, Cersei’s nomination wasn’t much to be get excited about. From where she stood with the cheerleaders she did a little wave.

"And Margaery Tyrell."

Cersei's hand froze mid-wave and her smile turned into a scowl. Margaery stood up from her seat in the stands, and unaffected by Cersei’s icy gaze, waved to the crowd, which was now once again cheering in full force.

 

Things had come to an awkward truce between them since their moment in the dressing room. She realized being alone with Margaery wasn’t going to make her spontaneously combust. (Although the way she had caressed her neck after zipping the dress might).

Sansa was genuinely happy for her. She knew Margaery loved the attention, and unlike Cersei, she deserved it. She was kind to everyone, and she didn’t resort to belittling people to seem cool.

Sansa decided then, that despite her demanding rehearsal schedule, she would do whatever she could to help Marge win. Make posters, hang fliers, she could even bake her signature lemon squares to hand out to the student body.

 Principal Mormont added, “And you should all come support Margaery and the rest of the cast of Anything Goes next weekend.”

 

***

 

“You’re doing it wrong.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“Yes, you are.”

“I think I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m positive that you don’t.”

With less than two weeks until opening night, Mr. Davos was asking all the cast members (and anyone else he could find) to work on the set during their study hall period. Designed to look like deck of a cruise ship, the stage featured a raised platform, with french doors in the middle, and a staircase on either side. Sansa busied herself painting the base of the stairs white, while Pod and Brienne bickered about the best way to reinforce the railing.

 

“You need to drill a hole for the post fasteners to go into before you start trying to screw them down,” Brienne said. “And you need to line up the balusters with the support system underneath the platform, otherwise you're just going to put a hole in the plywood.”

 

Pod sighed and grabbed the drill to as she said. Sansa smiled to herself. To the outside observer, Brienne may have seemed like she was being cruel, but Sansa knew she had a fondness for the underclassman.

Brienne clomped down the stairs to see if Pod was putting in the polls strait, stepping past Margaery, who was working alongside Renly and Loras, hanging nautical flags above the platform.

Jaime Lannister was there too, taking Davos up on offer to help with the set. He had been measuring out pieces of plywood to be cut and built into the flats they needed for the cabin scenes.

 Sansa watched as Jaime went to saw a the board he had been measuring. With only one hand to hold the tool, he couldn’t hold the wood steady, and had to constantly stop to readjust the wood. Brienne quickly stepped in to hold the board in place, and Jaime silently shot her a look of thanks.

 

Noticing her watching, Margaery kneeled down so she was face to face with Sansa.

 

“Do you think there’s something going on between the two of them?” She whispered tilting her head in the direction of the pair working on the flats.

 

Sansa looked at her incredulously. “Bri and Jaime?”

Margaery giggled, “Why not?”

“Because it’s Brienne, our good friend, and Jaime  _Lannister.”_

Margaery shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

 

Sansa wondered if developing confusing feelings for your female friend fell under the category of "stranger things."

“He’s really cute,” Margaery said.

“What would a guy like Jaime see in Brienne? I mean, I love her, but she’s not exactly the most popular girl in school.”

 

Margaery scoffed, “He would be lucky to date someone as cool as Bri. Besides, I’ve seen the way they look at each other, I’d bet-“

 

But what she was willing to bet was cut off as the door to theatre burst open. Vice Principal Sparrow swept into the room and approached Davos. 

"I need to speak with Mr. Baratheon,” the administrator said scanning the room, “And I see Mr. Tyrell is here too. That makes things easier for me."

Mr. Davos regarded Sparrow sceptically. “ Renly and Loras are helping me with the set. Can’t do much myself with only one good hand,” he said waving his marred right hand. “As you know we open in a week. Could they come by your office later, during their lunch, perhaps, or after dismissal?”

There was a reason all the students loved Davos. He could always be counted on to get you out of a spot of trouble. He didn’t tolerate malice, and if you were being stupid he’d be the first to call you out. But he loved a good prank, and knew all the loopholes in the school rules.

In October, Arya’s friend Gendry had brought a medieval war axe to school to show her. ( Apparently he collected that sort of thing) And was almost expelled for carrying a weapon. Davos had insisted that he was just doing his job as prop master, and had Tyrion wield the axe in Richard III to get Gendry of the hook. 

But by the look on the vice principal’s face, it was clear he was in no mood for the theatre teacher’s loose interpretation of the rules. “I’m afraid this is an urgent matter that simply can’t wait.”

Making a pathetic attempt to lower his voice, he added, “A student came to me today with a rather disturbing story. She say she witnessedthese two engaging in, well, certain salacious activities. Activities that would indisputably  be a breach of the code of student conduct.”

“And if we find out this vulgar conduct had been going on in the dressing room’s in the theatre, well that would reflect very poorly on you, wouldn’t it ?” the vice principal asked with a sneer.

The theatre was quiet as everyone watched the battle of wills going on between Davos and Sparrow. Margaery moved to stand in front of her brother, as if she intended to fight anyone who tried to take him. Loras and Renly kept exchanging worried glances. Even mild-mannered Pod glared at the vice principal with more anger than Sansa thought he was capable of.

Only Brienne was not staring at the showdown. She was looking at Jaime, as if trying to have a silent conversation with him. Her expression somewhere between confused, disappointed, and pleading. But Jaime was stubbornly avoiding her gaze.

After a moment, Davos conceded, “Very well. Boys, you heard the vice principal. You’re needed in his office.”

* * *

 

“My story is much too sad to be told, but practically everything leaves me totally cold . . .”

The song was supposed to be wistful, but something about Margaery’s dress rehearsal performance was genuinely heartbreaking. Sansa supposed she hadn’t been herself since her brother had been suspended.

After the vice principal had called Renly and Loras to his office, rumors about their relationship spread through the school, and there was no doubt about who started the gossip.

“This was Cersei Lannister. I know it was,” Margaery had told Sansa. “She’s trying to get at me because I’m going to win prom queen. She’s bitter and jealous.”

Sansa had nodded and let Margaery vent her anger.

“And she’s making the whole thing up. Loras and Renly aren’t dumb enough to do something at school.”

Sansa was sure that was true. Since Margaery told her about the relationship, she had noticed they were pretty handsy with each other. But that didn’t mean they deserved to be punished, or made social pariahs.

 

Renly and Loras were both given two-weeks in-school suspension. Renly was still in the play. Davos had been able to secure that much, but Loras’s status with the football team was up in the air, and his prom king nomination was withdrawn.

 

The few times she had seen him in the past few days, the usually cocky boy had his head down, not making eye contact with anyone. Margaery would stand up to anyone who dared to tease her brother in her presence, but she couldn’t stop the harassment completely.

 “I get no kick from champagne, mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all, so tell me why should it be true that I get a kick out of you?”

Margaery glided across the stage platform, like Juliette at her balcony. She looked stunning in her costume, a white and gold dress that was low cut in the front and even lower cut in the back. Sansa could never wear something like it, but she knew Margaery didn’t mind showing the skin. Her skin looked so smooth.

 “I get a kick every time I see you standing there before me . . .”

 Margaery’s eyes turned from the imagined audience to the wings, and she seemed to be looking right at Sansa as she sang the next line.

 “I get a kick though it's clear to me, you obviously don’t adore me.”

Sansa felt frozen in place. Helpless to do anything but watch as Margaery finished the song with her gaze fixed back stage. Sansa knew that with the stage lights she would be unable to recognise who was standing in the wings, but she couldn’t help feeling as though Margaery was singing to her.

 

And if she was being totally honest, she had been thinking of Margaery last night. When she was singing "Goodbye, Little Dream," and when she had been dancing to "De-Lovely."

Maybe that made her a pervert. And maybe it wasn’t fair to Tyrion (although he was welcome to imagine she was Shae). But Davos and Melisandre had both said it was her best performance yet.

She had finally practiced kissing Tyrion last night, and it really wasn’t so bad. Just a peck, unlike the tender kiss she and Margaery had shared.Not worth worrying about, unlike the realization that she was in love with her friend in a world that would scorn her for it if they knew.

 And now Margaery was singing a love song and she had to acknowledge the possibility that said friend had feelings for her too.

Feelings she had been ignoring and toying with. Letting her kiss her, and then avoiding her for weeks, only to miss her and go back to forcing friendship. She had been so caught up in her own drama, she hadn’t stopped to think how Margaery must feel.

What was she going to do?

* * *

Davos held them at rehearsal later than he had ever before and it was dark as she walked to through the parking lot.

 “The old superstition is that a bad dress rehearsal means a good opening night,” he had sighed. “I’m not superstitious myself, but for once I hope they’re right.”

 

Brienne had pulled her out the doors, before she could talk to Margaery. Not that she would know what to say if she had.

 

They were almost to Brienne’s car when she stopped.

“What was that?”

 Sansa stilled and listened. She could faintly make out the sounds of movement, grunts, and moaning. Brienne looked concerned.

 “It’s probably nothing. Let’s go,” she said tugging her friend's arm. But Brienne was already moving toward the noises coming from behind the theatre’s storage shed.

 As they approached, she could make out the noises more clearly. There were several bodies, and it sounded less like a fight and more like a pounding.

 “Do you like that, faggot?” a gruff voice said.

As if someone had slipped an ice cube down her shirt, Sansa was chilled with fear. She knew exactly what they would find when they turned the corner to see behind the shed. Ron Locke and couple of his jock friends. Renly was lying on the ground against the shed, and they were taking turns kicking him.

“Stop that!” Brienne shouted. She tried to move between the boys and Renly but they shoved her back. Before Sansa knew what happened, they were fighting, and she was pleading for them to stop.

“Hey!”

Sansa turned to see Jaime Lannister charging at them. She tried to swallow her panic. Three against one weren’t fair odds, even for someone as tall as Brienne, but there was no way she could fight Jaime and Locke’s cronies. Sansa didn’t know whether she should try to help or run for help.

Jaime shoved Brienne back, murmuring “Get behind me.”

Locke seemed surprised Jaime had come to Brienne’s aid, but he laughed it off.

“Come to protect your bitch?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Jaime punched him with his good hand so hard he fell to a ground. Locke's friends looked between him and the Lannister, like they didn’t know whether to help their friend or fight back.

“Don’t call her that,” Jaime spat.

Locke climbed to his feet and eyed Jaime and Brienne for a moment, before shrugging.

“Let’s go it. It’s not worth it, fighting a girl and a cripple.”

Jaime looked ready to punch him again, but Brienne put her hand on his arm and he stilled. Sansa knelt beside Renly.

 “Are you okay?” She brushed his hair out of his face. He was clearly breathing, and his eyes were open, if a bit dazed.

“Renly, can you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’ll go get help,” Brienne said and ran off.

Luckily, Davos hadn’t left the theatre. Brienne was explaining what happened as they ran back to the shed. Together they helped Renly up and into Davos’s car. Sansa drove Brienne’s car to the hospital, and Jaime followed.

When they got to the hospital Renly was nowhere to be seen, and Davos was talking to a nurse. Brienne rushed over to her and Jaime.

“They’re not letting us back there to since we’re not family. They’re not even telling us what’s going on.”

Jaime patted Brienne’s arm and said. “I’ll go talk to them.” He smiling his signature smug grin, “Dad’s on the board.”

Brienne looked appreciative, and then said something about needing to call her dad. Sansa paced the waiting room. She knew she should call her family too, but she was desperate to hear about Renly ’s condition.

She didn’t know why it was so important to her. She didn’t even known Renly that well. Although she had grown closer to everyone in the cast over the past few months (even Tyrion). But the visceral image of him lying on the ground, not knowing if he was conscious or not, was burnedin her mind.

Before Brienne had returned from the pay phone, Jaime walked back out to the waiting room.

“They think other than some bruising, he’s going to be fine. No broken ribs. No internal bleeding. They have to run some more tests to be sure, but I know the doctor that saw to him. He’s going to be fine.” Jaime said. “He was lucky Locke is such a pansy. He may even be able to do the show Friday.”

 “I’m surprised a jock like you even cares about someone like Renly,” Sansa said with as much contempt in her voice as she could muster.

She didn’t know why she was lashing out at him. After all, he had just saved them. But after the stressful evening she needed somewhere to direct her anger. And if it weren’t for his sister, Renly wouldn’t have been in trouble to begin with.

 “Why? Because he’s gay? I’m not an asshole like those guys were.”

 Sansa scoffed.

Jaime’s expression turned uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t blame him. We don’t get to choose who we love. It just happens.”

* * *

Jaime’s prediction had proved true. Renly had suffered no serious damage. And though he winced and wined when Sansa applied makeup over his bruises, he wanted to go on opening night.

Jaime's other words – we don't choose who we love – well, she couldn’t say if they were true or not, but they played in her head over and over.Since she had acknowledged her feelings for Margaery, they seemed harder and harder to ignore. 

Renly's beating should have reinforced her fear of such feelings, fear of being a freak. Acting on her feelings would mean opening a door to bullying, not just by immature middle schoolers, but by adults, by institutions.

But somehow it had the opposite affect. If Renly was willing to face school suspension, verbal harassment, and physical abuse, just to be with Loras, Loras must make him pretty happy. 

And Jaime didn’t care that he was gay. Neither did Brienne, or Davos. In fact, most of the cast seemed cool with it. Clearly , not everyone thought, like Sparrow, that homosexuals were degenerates and perverts.

So last night, she had gone to Arya. She told her everything: from their conversation in the library to their kiss to her serenade. Arya listened as she cleaned her room. Interrupting occasionally to ask questions.

When Sansa finished she was nearly in tears. Arya had hugged her fiercely and said, “Your taste has gotten much better since middle school. You should go for it.”

“Do you think Mom and Dad will be mad?” Sansa asked. 

Arya shrugged, “ Probably surprised more than mad. They love us no matter what.”

The theatre was in chaos before show. People were running around half-in-costume, setting their props. Pod was rehearsing the lighting cues. Davos was making last minute touch ups to the set.

Sansa found Margaery in the girl's dressing room, applying fake eyelashes while an old lady pinned her hair into a bob.

“Sansa!” she cried when she saw her. “This is my grandmother. She flew in from California to see the show.”

“And it was a hellish flight, so your show better be worth it.” She held out her hand. “You must be Sansa Stark. I’m Olenna Tyrell. Margaery has been telling me so much about you. She is certainly pretty, Margaery, I’ll give you that.”

“Grandma, you’ll embarrass her.”

“Nonsense, I’m flattering her. And I brought you something.”

She grabbed a small box off the makeup counter and handed it to Sansa. Inside was a delicate necklace, lined with small crystals. It looked expensive.”

“Oh, I can’t accept this.”

“Well, it’s not for you to keep. No, don't be ridiculous. It’s for the show. I brought Margaery one too. Back in those days, young ladies like yourselves would not have left the house without jewelry on. It would be like stepping out in your pajamas.”

“Thank you. It will go beautifully with my costume.” Sansa said.

“You better hurry and get ready, Sansa," Margaery said. "Melissandre is making the whole cast do warmups and a spirit circle at six, and when that’s over there won’t be much time until curtain."

“Break a leg, girls,” Olenna said, then muttered something about her dolt son saving her a good seat and left.

Sansa took her hair out of the curlers she'd put in and applied her heavy theatre makeup. But she hit a snag when she tried to apply the fake eyelashes. She couldn't hold her hand steady enough, and the falsies ended up a millimetre above her actual eyeline.

“Marge?” she asked, gesturing to her face, “Can you help me out?”

Margaery scooted her chair as close at it would go, slotting her knees between Sansa’s so she would fit. Unlike Sansa, who had applied the glue   directly to the eyelash, Margaery made a line of glue on the side of her hand, and glided the lash through.

“Close your eyes.”

Sansa obeyed.

Margaery leaned in. Sansa could feel her breath against her cheek. Gently, she pressed the false lash to her eyelid, holding the corners down for a few moments, then repeating the process on the other side.

After a minute, she said “Ok, open.”

Sansa blinked her eyes open, awkward under the extra weight of the lashes. Margaery’s face was still so close as she examined her eyes.

For a moment, Sansa entertained the fantasy of kissing her right there. She’d only need to tilt her chin up. Margaery was wearing dark read lipstick. Would it transfer to her own lips? Would her thick lashes brush against her skin?

She wouldn’t do it. Not where a dozen other girls would see, but she could tell her the truth.

“Margaery?”

“Yes?”

"I -"

“Five minutes until circle!” Someone shouted from the dressing room door. 

“Thank you five!” Everyone replied.

Margaery turned back to Sansa with a smirk, “You were saying?”

Sansa felt as though the words she wanted to say were trapped in her throat. She willed them to come out, but all she could manage was, “Stand next to me for the spirit circle?”

Margaery clasped their hands together. “I’d love to.”

* * *

The audience was everything you could hope for an opening night. They cheered after every song, chuckled at all the right spots, and Bronn’s rendition of “Be Like the Bluebird” had people falling out of their seats with laughter.

After curtain call, the cast was free to mingle with the friends that came to see them. Sansa thought she had seen her family sitting house-left of the light booth and began making her way back there, with Brienne close at her heels. But before they could find them, they were stopped by  another familiar face.

“Brienne!”

“Jaime? I didn’t know you were in the audience.” she said, a blush beginning to rise in her cheeks.

“My brother was the lead, of course I was going to come.”

“Oh,” she said looking around. “Is your sister here?”

“No, it’s just me I’m afraid. Father doesn’t really approve of Tyrion’s ‘bohemian pursuits,’ as he calls it. And Cersei is, well you know.”

Brienne nodded, “Well it was nice of you to come,” she said moving as if to pass him.

“Wait, I brought you something,” he said, and Sansa noticed he had been keeping his hand behind his back for the entirety of the conversation.

“I know flowers are the traditional gift for after a performance. But last time I tried to do something like that you accused me of teasing you and  nearly gave me a black eye.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. But that doesn’t matter. I wanted to give you this,” he said, revealing a shiny softball bat.

“Is that aluminum?” She said, brushing her fingertips over the wording on the handle, “A Valyrian?”

Jaime beamed, “You deserve nothing but the best.”

“But they’re so expensive. I can’t accept this.”

 

“Sure you can. I insist.”

"But-" 

"You're going to be playing in front of college scouts. You need a decent bat."

“Jaime, I -“

Sansa missed the rest of their argument as someone grabbed her arm and jerked her backwards. She turned and barely had enough time to recognize her brothers before she was tackled by Robb and Jon.

“I was so good!”

“You were amazing!”

“The dancing was sick.”

 

“And the set looks great. You have to show us what you built.”

“Boys, Give your sister some space,” she heard her mother say and was grateful. Jon and Robb pulled back, and she could breathe again.

 

“Thank you, I was starting to feel like a Stark sandwich.”

Her mom hugged her and told her she looked lovely. Her father smiled proudly. Rickon handed her flowers, and Bran remarked that this show was way funnier than the last one. 

“Yes, I wish Sansa had warned me about how funny it would be, before I brought her nine year old brother,” Catelyn said placing her hands on Ricky’s head.

“Sorry?”

“I heard the vice principal say he was planning on having a conversation with Mr. Davos about what material is appropriate for children.”

Her dad shook his head, “Davos is a good man. He’s not exposing these kids to anything they don’t see at the movies.

 

Arya forced herself through the rest of the family. “Alright, it’s my turn to sing Sansa’s praises,” she said with a sarcastic tone. But she gave Sansa a hug and whispered in her ear, "Did you tell her yet?"

"No."

Arya punched her arm.

"Ow!"

"Why not? Go get her!"

"I tried but–" 

Arya shot her a look as if to say, no buts just do what I said. It was the most she had ever looked like their mother.

She scanned the auditorium but saw no sign of Margaery. Hopefully, that meant she was changing and not that she had already left. She excused herself from her family and rushed back to the dressing room.

Sure enough Margaery was there alone, taking pins out of her hair. She had slipped out of her finale costume and had thrown a sweater over her tights and short shorts.

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, looking at Sansa through the reflection in the mirror. “I’m sure you had, like, at least seven fans in the audience.”

“I could ask the same to you.”

“Loras wanted to introduce grandma to Renly, and I didn’t want to stick around for that. I don’t know if you noticed earlier, but she doesn’t really believe in tact.”

Sansa sat down in the chair next to her, knocking their knees together.

“But you didn’t answer my question,” Margaery said.  

Sansa studied Margaery’s face. She looked curious, patient. Maybe a little anxious, maybe a little excited. Maybe Sansa was projecting.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Once again, the words wouldn’t come.  _I think I like you,_ she wanted to say, but that could be misconstrued. They were friends, of course she liked her.  _I think I like girls,_ but that wasn’t specific to Margaery. She probably liked other girls too, but Margaery shone the brightest by far.  _I think I love you,_ too soon, she thought. Though it felt the most truthful of the options.

So instead of saying anything, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against hers.

Despite having a few opportunities to practice with Tyrion, she was still very new at this kissing thing. So when Margaery didn’t move, she began to panic. Maybe she had entirely misread the situation. Maybe Margaery didn’t have feelings for her at all. Maybe she had come out only to have her heart broken.

She pulled back and looked at Margaery, hoping her eyes could convey everything that she couldn’t say.

But Margaery was smiling, and she wrapped her arms around her.

“I have been waiting months for you to do that.”

“Months?”

 

“Months. Since I moved here, really. When did you finally realize I had been flirting with you this whole time?”

 

“Uh, right now?”

 

Margaery chuckled. “I could not have been more obvious. But,” she leaned in, “at least we can make up for lost time now.”

 

And then she kissed her again. And her previous practice attempts felt pathetic compared to this. Margaery tangled a hand in her hair and held her head in place as she attacked her mouth. Her other hand ran up and down Sansa's side and it sent shivers threw her whole body.

 

When they finally pulled away, she saw both their lips were smudged with lipstick. They laughed and wiped it off and kissed again.

 

Sansa was still unsure about many things. But this, she had never been more sure of anything. She wanted to keep kissing Margaery and holding Margaery for as long as she could. Everything else would fall in place.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I have no idea where this story came from other than my own theatre experience, but I really hope you enjoyed. Comments are so appreciated. You can find me on Tumblr at curiouscarson.tumblr.com


End file.
